


Stroll

by cuntoid



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Biting, Drooling, F/M, Forced Orgasms, Other, Public Sex, dubcon, honestly people we're fucking a timeless evil here there's not a lot of room for consent and all, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 06:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12163695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: You're walking a nice trail when Pennywise offers you a nice balloon.





	Stroll

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a tumblr prompt for Pennywise enjoying random public fucks. I feel you, buddy, I feel you and so does Penny.

“ _Well, hi there, little thing!_ ”

You drop your phone on the paved asphalt of the trail, gasping and whipping around to locate the source of the greeting. The walkway is empty in both directions - this isn’t uncommon, but odd for the timing of the day, considering the mild weather. Out past fields of crops that flank the trail, there’s a busy highway; not another soul seems to be in your vicinity.

And then you see him. The only place left to look is the tree line to your side, deceptively thick before opening up into a naturally canopied little alcove. Just inside the slim trunks is a man in a clown uniform. It startles you all over again as you take in how _big_ the fucker is, towering above you even at this small distance. 

“Oh! I… I’m sorry,” you stammer. He smiles at you, teeth elongated and sharp as they brush his full bottom lip. His eyes glow and reflect like a predator’s would, cementing you where you stand as you try to organize your thoughts. You feel like a deer in the headlights. He takes a step forward and you’re mortified at the nervous whine that shoots out from your lungs, collapsing in on themselves as he takes your breath away. His smile deepens and he bends low to meet your eye level, moving to the very edge of the trees to extend his hand. 

You shake your head. “Look, I don’t want - I didn’t m-mean to -”

“ _Child._ ”

His voice makes your stomach lurch; there’s something inherently unnatural about him, something that makes your eyes water when you stare. You look instead at his gloved fingers. They hold a single balloon, red and hovering motionlessly above. It doesn’t sway or bob with the wind - it seems to be _churning_ , like it’s full of liquid. 

“Don’t.. you want.. a _balloon?_ ” He enunciates each hard consonant, his voice moving with a cadence that shakes you down to your bones, that chases through your veins like ice. Your skin crawls and you shudder. He pouts his bottom lip out and tilts his head, imploring you with his unblinking stare. Your heart stops as you watch the slits of his pupils eat into the glittering gold of the iris before contracting back to their natural position. “You don’t want my balloon? What _would_ you like? I’ve got plenty of things to show you in _here_ …” 

You glance past him into the trees and steel yourself to just take the fucking balloon and walk away. This isn’t the first weird clown to grace the surrounding town and it likely wouldn’t be the last, so, what else can you do? You reach to take the balloon and he giggles as your fingers brush his. He grabs your hand and the balloon explodes, all trace of it disappearing with a sickening squelch. He yanks you behind the tree line and you’re too afraid to scream, tensing up as he twirls you and pulls you tight against his body. He makes a fist in your hair and tugs your head to the side, laughter echoing crazily in the empty woods, discordant like feedback, like records playing backwards. He bends to bury his face into the crook of your neck and smell you, and the feeling of hot, thick drool trailing down your skin makes you gag. 

“Mmm, little- _haha_ , tiny little plaything. Pennywise’s new toy - has a nice ring to it, wouldn'tcha say?”

“ _Please don’t -_ ”

Pennywise whines and hyperventilates in a crude mimicry of your please against your skin, punctuated by his wild giggling, the sharp raking of his teeth. “ _Please don’t hurt me! Don’t kill me! I won’t tell!_ ” Laughter bubbles up from his huge frame until he reaches up to wiggle his fingers in front of your face. “You all sound the same in the beginning. Take it off. Be nice,” he warns.

You reluctantly take the tip of his finger between your teeth and he pulls away, gently shimmying his hand free of the glove before pushing his fingers down the front of your jeans. You thrash in his grip and he shoves you against the trunk of a tree, your cheek scraping raw against the bark as he claws your jeans down and brings his large hand up between your thighs, cupping your bare pussy. His palm feels unbearably warm and his skin is like something out of a nightmare. There’s no earthly comparison, no words to describe the unnerving texture; just the realization that it’s _not quite right._

“I can be nice, too. You want ol’ Pennywise to show you a trick?”

Before you can respond, his palm trembles. It warms against your sensitive skin and the tremor grows into a deep, booming vibration, the sound of it filling your ears as if the air’s gone heavy with it. It buzzes through your bones and makes your teeth chatter, and you feel the tentative flush of heat and spark flood your veins; without even breeching the natural barrier of your slit, he forces you to cum on his cupped fingers, moaning through your sore throat as you buck your hips. His breathing is ragged. _Hungry._ The vibrations stop and he rocks the heel of his palm until you get his hand wet, smearing it around as he drags his slimy tongue up your cheek. 

He hums from deep in his chest and ghosts a fingertip just inside your slit, pulling away wet. He raises it to your face and shows you what a mess you’ve made on his hand, pale almost-flesh shiny with your cum, and his tongue _stretches_. It stretches impossibly long and thick and dripping until he licks the offending appendage clean. He makes a show of how much he enjoys it, moaning and smacking his lips between long strokes of his alien tongue. Something equally as disgusting rears up against your ass, slithering low to find its home snug against your slippery cunt, and stark black panic fills every inch of your confused body. You feel helpless against it. The awful thing between your legs pulses and squirms, teasing your clit before prodding against your resisting passage. 

It pushes its way inside easily, utilizing your own body’s lubrication, and then _swells_ , inflates inside of you until you’re begging him to stop, that you can’t take him like this. Every muscle in your body goes taut with bright, exquisite pain, nerves stretched thin; there’s only the agonizing snap-and-thrust of his hips as he fucks into you. He pants and wraps an arm around your middle, hefting you up so your shoes scrape the dirt and you have to claw at the tree for balance. He fixes this by grabbing your throat and wrapping his fingers around it. The strain of your arched spine and his pounding combines with your sudden lack of air, and you contract miserably hard down on his cock. He laughs breathlessly, humming with each slap of his body against yours. 

“ _You’re so good and soft, so helpless!_ Maybe I’ll strip your flesh and eat it after I fill you up, hm? Maybe I could try to mate you while your raw meat scrapes against this tree. If you don’t fall apart on Pennywise _riiight now,_ if you don’t squeeze me dry like I know you can, I’ll squeeze _you_ til you POP!”

His cock undulates and twists inside of you so painfully, so achingly good, nudging up against your cervix, that his threat is all it takes. You sob as you cum again for him, spasming around his monstrous girth as he giggles. 

“ _Good girl. Good girl for me, for Pennywise, all - all for me. All mine_ ,” he mumbles feverishly. He bites down on your shoulder without warning and pops through skin, shredding you open and lapping at your blood, sucking like a leech. He fills you in a last, desperate thrust and empties his seed, uncomfortably hot as it drips out around the base of your joined bodies and runs down your inner thighs. More rushes obscenely forth as he pulls out and you instinctively cup a hand to yourself and lean bonelessly against the tree. Pennywise straightens to his full height and you look up at him with unease. Your body is exhausted, used up - if he means to kill you, you can’t do anything to stop him. 

Bike bells chime in the distance. Pennywise’s smile twitches and you see your own blood dotted on his teeth, leftovers from a wound you’re too shocked to really feel yet. His eyes are unnaturally bright as he gives you a parting wink. Another bell chimes closer and you steal a glance beyond the trees to the trail, eyes trained on catching any movement.

“I’ll be seeing you around, soft new thing.”

When you turn back to face him, he’s gone. There’s no trace of him left but a single, unmoving balloon in the center of the clearing.


End file.
